by Candace Camp
The terrace doors were open to admit the cool evening air, and Mary slipped through them. A few couples stood or walked on the terrace, but she ignored them, trotting rapidly to the stairs and down into the garden. She headed toward the fountain—and there, sitting beside the fountain, looking around and impatiently tapping her foot, was Miss Dalrymple.
“Miss Dalrymple.” Mary came to a stop, dismayed.
This was the worst possible thing, to have run into her chaperone when all she wanted was to be alone. The woman was staring at her as if she’d seen an apparition, which was most peculiar since they had ridden over in the same carriage. Nor could Mary understand why Miss Dalrymple was sitting out here. She had been so gleeful, even smug, that Lady Sabrina had sent her an invitation of her own—although Mary, with her changed perception of Lady Sabrina, suspected it was done simply to make sure that the Bascombes would have someone to monitor and criticize them throughout the party.
“What are you doing—” Mary began.
“You!” Miss Dalrymple barked, glaring at her. “Why are you here?”
Mary blinked, unsure how to answer.
“That idiot girl! Did she send you? I specifically told her to come herself.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Miss Dalrymple narrowed her eyes. “Never mind. You will just have to do.”
“What?” Mary stumbled as Miss Dalrymple gripped her arm and began to pull her down the path into the garden. “What are you doing? Where are we going?” Mary was beginning to think the woman was losing her mind.
“To find Lily and that boy. I told Rose. I thought she must have told you.”
“Told me what?” Mary frowned, her pace picking up as she realized that Lily was in some sort of trouble. “I didn’t see any of my sisters.”
“Lily went outside with a young man. We can’t let her compromise her reputation. It will be a terrible scandal.”
“Lily went into the gardens with some man she doesn’t know? Really, Miss Dalrymple, are you certain it was Lily you saw?”
“Yes, of course it was. I’m not daft. Nor blind. It’s just like her, always full of romantic nonsense.”
Mary had to admit that the romantic silliness fit Lily. Still, it seemed peculiar that she would venture into the dark gardens with someone she didn’t know. If nothing else, after the scares they’d had the past few weeks—
A chill ran up Mary’s spine. She turned and looked at Miss Dalrymple, her steps faltering. Miss Dalrymple gripped her arm so tightly that it hurt as she jerked Mary around the corner of a hedge.
Standing there waiting, holding some sort of cloth in his hands, was Egerton Suttersby.
For an instant, he and Mary stared at each other in amazement. Then his face flushed with fury.
“You! You’re the wrong one!” He swung toward Miss Dalrymple. “You fool! You brought me the wrong girl!”
Mary whirled to run, but Miss Dalrymple was still clutching her arm tightly. Miss Dalrymple grabbed Mary with the other hand too and held on.
“What does it matter? She’s the one who came out! You said you’d take any of them!”
Miss Dalrymple was stronger than Mary had expected, and that, coupled with sheer surprise, enabled her to hold Mary for a moment. Then Mary let out a loud shriek and kicked her hard in the shins, and Miss Dalrymple let go, crying out in pain. But before Mary could take two steps, Suttersby’s arms went tightly around her and his hand clamped over her mouth. Mary kicked backward, twisting and turning frantically. She connected with his leg and heard a sharp oath, but still the man dragged her backward. His hand was tight against her face, but she managed to open her mouth and bite the fleshy pad below his fingers.
Suttersby let out a yelp and jerked his hand away. Mary drew breath and screamed at the top of her lungs. She could feel his grip around her slipping, and she renewed her kicking and struggling.
“Damn it, woman, help me! She’s a wildcat!” he roared. He tried to shift his hold on Mary, and his grip loosened slightly.
Mary seized the chance to swing her elbow back as hard as she could, and it connected with the man’s midsection. He let out a grunt, followed by a curse as he released her. Mary twisted around to face him.
“It was you!” she spat. “All this time, it was you!”
Mary whirled to run, but Miss Dalrymple stood in her way. Mary feinted to one side, then went the other way. Miss Dalrymple followed her feint, but she was able to turn in time to grab Mary’s skirt and hang on. Egerton came up behind Mary and dropped the sack he had been holding over her head. He wrapped both his arms around her, pinning her inside the dark sack. Mary could still scream and kick, though, and she did.
“Be quiet!” Egerton roared, knocking her in the head so hard Mary’s teeth clacked together and her eyes watered.
Then she heard Royce calling her name. She screamed again, aware now of more sounds—running feet and her name being called. Someone flew by her, knocking into Suttersby and taking him down to the ground.
Released, Mary staggered and fell. Frantically she grasped the edges of the sack and yanked it off over her head. She whirled around to see Royce drag Suttersby to his feet and punch him, sending him reeling back into a hedge. Mary turned and saw Miss Dalrymple going in the opposite direction. Scrambling up, she lifted her skirts and took off after her, but the woman had a large head start and was running with desperation.
Beyond Miss Dalrymple, Mary saw her sisters hurrying toward her, calling her name.
“Get her!” Mary screamed, pointing. “She’s part of it! Get her!”
It took her sisters only an instant to understand and respond. They ran straight at Miss Dalrymple. Miss Dalrymple veered onto another path and sped off in a different direction, but Camellia, skirts lifted to her knees, was hot on her trail, with Lily and Rose only a few steps behind.
Gasping for air, Mary stopped and sank to her knees.
“Mary!” Royce ran to her and dropped down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you all right?” He rained kisses over her head and face.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Mary threw her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his strength around her, while the shivering inside her subsided. Finally she raised her head. “Suttersby! Where is he?”
“Him? He’s not going anywhere.” Royce jerked his head toward where the other man lay stretched out inert on the ground.
“Oh. Thank God you came in time. How did you know?”
“I couldn’t find you. I wanted to tell you—well, that doesn’t matter right now—the point is, your sisters came running up, telling me you had disappeared and they thought you’d been lured into the gardens. So I ran out, looking for you.”
“I’m so glad you did.” Mary tightened her arms around his neck and stretched up to kiss him.
His mouth fastened on hers, hard and desperate. His arms pressed her so tightly against him she felt she might break. But she wanted him to hold her this way forever.
“Mary! We got her!” Camellia’s voice cried. “Oh! Sorry.”
Royce let out a curse and raised his head, releasing Mary. With an inward sigh, Mary turned and saw her three sisters standing a few feet away, their faces a blend of curiosity and excitement. Camellia and Rose were on either side of Miss Dalrymple, dragging her with them. Lily brought up the rear, pushing the woman from the back. Miss Dalrymple’s hair was askew and falling down on one side, and her cheek was smudged with mud, her skirt torn at the bottom and trailing in the grass.
Royce rose and reached down to help Mary to her feet. At that moment, Fitz and Oliver came striding along the path toward them, followed closely by Sam Treadwell, Charlotte, and Vivian.
“Royce! Mary! What is going on? Sam told me—” The earl stopped and looked beyond them at the form lying on the grass. “Who the devil is that?”
“Your kidnapper,” Royce told them tersely. “Along with her.” He pointed at Miss Dalrymp
le.
“I never!” Miss Dalrymple began indignantly. “These girls are quite mad! Out of control. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Royce stilled her with a single murderous glance. “I saw you. That villain was trying to carry Mary off, and you were helping him!”
“I knew she was a terrible chaperone,” Vivian commented, earning a sharp glance from the earl.
Beyond them, Suttersby groaned and moved his head. Fitz and Oliver crossed the grass and pulled him to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily between them.
“The devil,” Oliver said coolly. “He looks worse than the other chap. Really, Royce, you need to control this urge to beat people to a pulp.”
“He hurt Mary.” Royce’s voice was as stony as his face.
“I see. Well, he won’t be hurting anyone now.” Oliver turned toward the others. “Treadwell, Fitzhugh, let’s take this rogue to the magistrate. Go around the side of the house; the last thing we want is everyone seeing this. I’ll be right behind you with Miss Dalrymple.” He took the woman firmly by the arm and turned toward Vivian, raising a brow. “Lady Vivian? Cousins? If you would be so good as to return to the party …”
“Yes, yes, I know. We will go back and act as though nothing exciting has occurred.” Vivian linked arms with Charlotte. “Let’s see, what excuse shall we give to these gentlemen for leaving the party so abruptly? A digestive problem perhaps?”
Mary’s sisters hesitated, looking at Mary uncertainly.
“I’ll take care of her,” Royce assured them. “Return to the party. I will see Mary home and send the carriage back for you.”
“Go ahead.” Mary smiled at her sisters. “No need to miss your first ball. Though, Camellia, you might want to pin up that ruffle. It seems to have gotten torn.”
Camellia grinned. “I have to say, Miss Dalrymple put up a good fight.”
The girls followed the other women back into the house, leaving Mary and Royce alone in the garden. He turned and swept Mary up into his arms and carried her back through the garden, following the path that the men had taken around the side of the house.
Mary giggled. “You don’t need to carry me. I can walk. I’m perfectly all right.”
“I am carrying you.” His voice brooked no opposition, and Mary subsided, happy simply to rest her head on his shoulder.
When he reached their carriage, he placed her inside, telling the driver tersely that Miss Bascombe had twisted her ankle. He climbed inside and took Mary into his arms again, holding her all the way home to Willowmere. Mary did not object.
She did manage a protest when they reached Willowmere and Royce lifted her out of the carriage to carry her into the house. “Really, Royce, this is absurd. I’m not ill.”
“Shh. Let me take care of you. I have made a hundred mistakes, and I mean to start making up for them now.”
The servants clustered around them with cries of alarm, and Royce sent them scurrying off with a demand for a stiff brandy and Miss Bascombe’s maid. He carried her up the stairs and deposited her gently on her bed. Then he stepped out while Prue fussed over Mary, helping her change into her nightgown and brushing out her hair. Mary was relieved when Royce knocked and came back into the room with a glass of brandy and sent the maid off to bed.
“Here, drink this.” Royce handed the glass to Mary, who was sitting in bed, pillows stuffed behind her back.
“I’m not in a swoon.” Mary raised the snifter anyway and took a sip. She winced as the fiery liquid ran down her throat and burst in her stomach, then gave a little shiver.
“I am sure you are not, but I hope it will weaken your resistance.”
“Are you planning to seduce me?” Mary asked with a sly smile.
“I am planning to propose.” He paused, grimacing. “For the fourth time.”
Mary giggled and took another sip of the brandy. “I think it’s the fifth.”
She was already giddy before the liquor hit her. It didn’t matter anymore what Royce said; she knew her answer. She had known it when she struggled in Egerton Suttersby’s hold, terrified that she might never see Royce again, and had realized how foolish it was to throw away her life with him because she was afraid she might be unhappy. If he did not love her now, she had an entire lifetime to change that. And Mary had never been one who was afraid of a challenge.
Royce smiled. “You are doubtless enjoying my humiliation. You have every right to. I am a fool. I have been a fool for a long time, and the past few weeks, I’ve been even a greater one than usual. I loved Sabrina years ago—I admit it. It was a young man’s passion, and when she threw me over to marry Lord Humphrey, I was furious. I gave up on the idea of love. I tarred all women with the same brush. But I have finally realized how very mistaken I was.”
“What do you mean?” Mary set the glass aside on the table and gazed up at him.
“I realized that love is not some idiocy dreamed up by foolishly romantic beings. Or, if it is, then I have succumbed to the idiocy.” He brushed his knuckles down Mary’s cheek. “I love you. I love you so much more than I ever loved Sabrina that it makes my feelings for her seem laughable. Tonight when I saw her, I felt nothing—not desire, not anger, not even contempt. I felt simply … nothing. All I could think about was you and how to ask you to marry me so you would accept. Then, of course, I made an utter mull of that all over again.”
“Yes, you did.” Mary smiled and took his arm, tugging him down to sit on the bed beside her. Wrapping both her arms around one of his, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
“All of my excuses were drivel,” he went on, brushing her hair back behind her ear, “silly attempts to hide the truth from myself. The fact is, I asked you to marry me because I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. When I heard you scream tonight, when I thought I might lose you, I could not bear it.”
“Royce.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Royce …”
He turned to face her, taking her hand. “Let me do this again, properly. Marigold Bascombe, I love you more than life itself. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes.” She flung herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his face all over. “Oh, yes. I will marry you. A thousand times over, I will marry you.”
“I think once will be sufficient.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her still as he looked into her eyes. “I intend to take full advantage of the one time.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. The familiar heat swept up between them, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. He kissed her again and again until finally, with an effort, he pulled away, standing up.
“I should go.”
“Why?” Mary smiled at him and lay back on her bed, her arms stretched provocatively over her head, her breasts thrusting up against the thin cloth of her nightgown. “No one else is here. It will be hours before they’re back.”
He stood looking down at her. Mary’s fingers went to the first tie of her nightgown and undid it, her eyes steadily on his. Her fingers slid down to the next tie.
“You vixen.” A slow, sensuous smile curved his lips. “I can tell you’re going to be a terrible influence.” He leaned over her, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her.
“I know.” Mary raised her arms, and he sank onto the bed, his lips lowering to hers.
“My beautiful hoyden,” he murmured. “My love.”
Epilogue
Mary slipped her hand into Royce’s beneath the table. He glanced at her, smiling, and laced his fingers through hers. They were at the breakfast table the next morning, and the seating arrangements there were always informal. Oliver, of course, sat at the head, but the rest of them were scattered up and down the table in random order. Even Charlotte had risen early, and Sam Treadwell had walked up from the village inn where he was staying, as he had been doing every day for the past week.
Sam and Rose were seated across from Mary and Royce
, and it occurred to Mary that she and Royce must appear a mirror image of the other couple. She had been receiving curious glances from everyone all morning, and she knew that they had seen the difference in her and Royce. Indeed, how could they not?
Until now, everyone had been involved in eating, and any conversation had been restricted to polite small talk. But now, her hunger somewhat sated, Mary was eager to hear everything that had happened.
“I don’t understand,” Mary began, addressing Rose. “How did you know I was in trouble last night?”
“I couldn’t find you. You see, Miss Dalrymple had come to me and told me she needed my help. She said Lily had gone into the gardens with a young man and her reputation would be ruined.”
Lily let out a snort.
“I thought it was most peculiar.” Rose smiled at her youngest sister. “It didn’t occur to me that Miss Dalrymple was trying to harm me, but I thought someone had tricked her. I wanted to discuss it with you, so I told her that I would meet her outside, but I had to get my shawl because of the chill. I couldn’t find you, so I told Sam. We couldn’t find you anywhere. Then Lily ran up to us—”
“She had locked me in a room!” Lily jumped in. “Can you imagine? A little tiny thing, hardly bigger than a wardrobe. Miss Dalrymple gave me a note from the earl, or so it said, and he wanted me to meet him in this room. I thought it was terribly peculiar. But I was curious.”
“Of course.” Mary grinned.
Lily made a face. “So as soon as I stepped into the room, someone shoved me in the back and closed the door and locked it. I got up and started banging on it right away, and finally someone heard me and let me out. Then I saw Rose.”
“Obviously something was terribly wrong—though I still assumed someone had tricked Miss Dalrymple,” Rose continued. “Sam went to find Cousin Oliver, and I found Royce, and … well, you know what happened after that.”
“What I don’t understand is why she did it,” Fitz said. “She must have known that she was risking not only this job but her very future.”
